Tale of the hungriest redfish — maybe ever

Deer camp story grows to legendary proportions

After landing the hungry redfish in his kayak, Bill Doench snapped this cell-phone photo of a rat’s nest of line, leaders and popping corks next to the red that Mike and/or Michelle Peterson hooked and lost three times. less

After landing the hungry redfish in his kayak, Bill Doench snapped this cell-phone photo of a rat’s nest of line, leaders and popping corks next to the red that Mike and/or Michelle Peterson hooked and lost ... more

When hunters arrive at deer camp the evening before a weekend of looking for the big one, good-natured ribbing and stories flourish — and sometimes the tales turn to fishing, especially when two of the members have places at the coast.

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Colleges

They’d be back for the bucks the next Friday, when my brother Rush Goodspeed and I were settling down for dinner at the camp kitchen at our lease near Blanco and anticipating a fish story or two about the one that got away.

But we never expected to hear a saga about the hungriest redfish that ever swam the sea.

Arriving before Doench, Peterson wore a possum grin when he swung the door open and declared, “It was the hottest fishing I’d ever seen in my life.”

Goodspeed chuckled and said, “Hotter than the last time you said that?”

Ignoring the jab, Peterson recounted the adventure.

He and his wife, Michelle Peterson, loaded up the boat at their house in Rockport for a quick run. They stopped at a few spots and caught several redfish and trout while heading down the Intracoastal Canal to an inlet off Redfish Bay, near Doench’s waterfront site at IWC RV Park in Aransas Pass.

Looking for Doench, who was out in his kayak, Peterson stopped at another hole.

They quickly learned it was packed with trout and redfish. He and his wife were reeling in keepers with every cast.

“Then Michelle hooked another one, and it broke off on oyster shells,” Peterson said. “I cast back in there and hooked one, and it broke off, too.”

They were fishing live shrimp under popping corks with 20-pound braided line and a 15-pound monofilament leader.

The problem was, Peterson hadn’t brought his tackle box because it was just going to be a short trip. He never expected such hot and heavy action.

Four more poles were rigged up, but they soon lost their tackle, too.

“We decided to call it a day and go home,” he said. “I called Billy and told him exactly where we were. He was hesitant to paddle over. He’s kind of stubborn that way. You can tell him the building’s on fire, and he wants to see the smoke first.”

Later, the Petersons were eating dinner when a photo of a redfish popped up on his phone.

“The text said, 'I think I found something that belongs to you,’” Peterson said. “And the picture was amazing. Here was this redfish with …”

He was interrupted by Doench, who entered the kitchen stretching his arms and shoulders.

“I’m still sore from reeling in all those fish last weekend,” he said.

Doench said he paddled over to the hole and was landing reds about 45 minutes after the Petersons had left.

Then he spied a popping cork floating on the water.

It began moving.

He hooked a fish and reeled.

The popping cork followed.

“I pulled up this 22-inch redfish, and there were all kinds of line and hooks in its mouth — three treble hooks and two corks,” Doench said.

Later, I related the tale to Jimmy Dean, a retired Texas Parks & Wildlife Department fisheries biologist. He said he had never heard of such a thing — one fish gobbling so many baited hooks in such a short time.

Peterson got his tackle back.

“I gave it back to him in more ways than one,” Doench said.

He admitted that he didn’t really hook the red. He saw the cork moving, cast over it, snagged the line with his hook and gingerly reeled it to him.

“But there’s Peterson in a $40,000 boat and thousands in gear,” Doench said, “and I go over in a $600 kayak with a $60 rod and reel, bring his fish in and walk away with the story.”

And the hungry red?

Doench fried it and gulped it down, without the hooks.

“It was fat and very healthy,” he said. “It was good.”

And so was the extraordinary deer camp tale.

John Goodspeed is a freelance outdoors writer. Email john@johngoodspeed.com.